


Nice Day to Start Again

by lilacsigil



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Las Vegas Wedding, Multi, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 02:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: Jessica Jones dashes to Las Vegas to save Trish from a quickie marriage to rock star Daimon Hellstrom.





	Nice Day to Start Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleurting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurting/gifts).



> Thanks to st_aurafina for the beta.

"Dorothy? What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Charming as ever, I see, Jessica." Dorothy Walker swept past Jessica and into her tiny apartment. Fortunately, Crusty Dave the Stinky Roommate was still at his girlfriend's place, because he really would have set Dorothy off. "And what are you up to these days?"

"Working, you know, that thing you made Trish do for you?"

"And have you been keeping up with my daughter?"

Jessica slouched on the vinyl sofa as insouciantly as she could manage. It helped that she was only wearing someone else's old t-shirt and one sock. No underwear, but she wasn't quite ready to start flashing her foster mom yet. "Course I have. You?"

"Well, I don't believe you for a moment, because if you had, you'd be as frantic as I am!"

"Wait, what?" Jessica sat up. Last she'd heard, which was yesterday, Trish was still in LA, auditioning for season ten million of Survivor. Jessica found this fucking hilarious, since Trish didn't even like getting her nails dirty. Still, all the cardio would probably stand her in good stead when she had to run away from alligators or whatever. 

"Patsy's getting married!" Dorothy wailed. 

"Seriously, what?" She bent over and dug her phone out from under the sofa, remembering too late about the lack of underwear when she heard Dorothy make an exaggerated gasp of horror, and checked her texts. There were fifteen from Trish and a couple from that annoying feminist chick Barbara Norris who Trish was living with in LA. Jessica scrolled through them. The first few were about the audition going well and going out for drinks with a group of people who were _even worse fame whores, lol_. Increasingly drunken texts followed – Trish and autocorrect were not friends – followed by their usual hook-up check-in. 

_hooping up with dud Damien check in tomorrow love u_

Jess had been passed out through all this, best she could recall, because she'd been at some random apartment and Crusty Dave's girlfriend's girlfriend had been plying Jessica with really dirty margaritas and she was smoking hot, and things had proceeded from there. Forgot-her-name kindly escorted Jessica home in the morning on her way to college – Jessica vaguely remembered giving Forgot-her-name her phone to put her number in and her saying something about lots of texts – and then Jessica had stripped off and passed out on the rug, which was cleaner than her bed. When she woke up she'd had a shower and some cold coffee from a mug on the bench, and hadn't even started looking for her phone when Dorothy barged in. Yeah, that explained it. She hoped Trish wasn't dead or something, especially as Jessica hadn't checked in herself. 

The check-in post was there:

_BANANA CREAM!!!!!_

That was the code-word, so it was definitely Trish and she'd had a good time. A selfie followed with Trish pushing her face up against a vaguely familiar red-haired man with dark sunglasses, wearing a vintage Buzzcocks t-shirt. Jessica hated him already. It was the last text, though, that made Jessica start.

_Ok, totally serious here, getting married, ok. Emailed you ticket, see you in VEGAS bb!_

"Uh, did she invite you to Vegas?" Jessica asked Dorothy, who was now theatrically dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Maybe she could use it to blindfold herself if Jessica accidentally mooned her again. 

"Yes, it's terrible! And on the day of the new _Annie_ auditions! I've got fifty-one kids in those! Patsy was always so selfish."

"That's definitely what I think of when I think of her, yeah." 

Dorothy was now in full drama mode and paying no attention to Jessica's sarcasm. "Such a terrible daughter! She abandoned me! And now this!"

"So what do you want me to do about it?" Jessica was kind of feeling sorry for Dorothy, which was a new feeling. This whole wedding thing was something that Dorothy and Trish had been super into. Like, cutting out bridal magazine pictures and sticking one of Trish's professional headshots on them and discussing flowers and making celebrity guest lists. She was pretty sure Trish still had an actual hope chest back at her mom's place. 

"I want you to stop the wedding! She hasn't even signed a pre-nup to keep him away from her money!" 

Well, Jessica shouldn't have worried: trust Dorothy to destroy any sympathy as soon as possible. Still, she didn't want some douche to take advantage of Trish. He'd probably told her some dumb sob story. "Okay. I'm not saying I'll stop the wedding, but I will go check this guy out, and if he doesn't deserve Trish, that'll be the end of it."

"Oh, thank you, Jessica! What a lovely girl you grew into! Now, I know you can't afford a plane ticket right now, so here, I'll pay for that and a hotel."

"I could take your credit card," Jessica said hopefully, but Dorothy gave her a hard look and she quit. 

"No, I think this will be enough for you, Jessica. I'd go myself but _Annie_ is the chance of a lifetime for these kids."

"Yeah, yeah, always thinking of the children, I get it."

Dorothy snapped her purse shut. "That would be a first. I expect to hear from you at regular intervals, Jessica. And please, don't mess this up. For Patsy's sake."

Jessica didn't say, "Fuck Patsy," because Dorothy would think she meant Trish, not the fake child star Dorothy had created, and she just didn't want to get into it right now. Also, she was still mildly hung over and didn't need Dorothy to pull out the extremely resonant failed Broadway star voice. Even thinking about it made her eyelid twitch. 

"Regular intervals," Dorothy told her, in scolding tones, before closing the door a little too firmly. 

Jessica sighed, but texted Trish back. 

_sure thing c u there thanks for ticket_

Trish texted back right away. 

_hey you're awake lol can't wait for u to meet Daimon_

Daimon. Right. Jessica pulled on her jeans so she had somewhere to stash Dorothy's cash, then put her phone on to charge and stuffed some clothes and make-up in a bag. She was going to Vegas, but first she was going to check out this asshole so she knew exactly how to ruin his life. 

Daimon Hellstrom, it turned out, was extremely easy to research. He was the lead singer and only original band member of Sons of Satan, a group that seemed to largely exist to play Daimon's music. Their main notoriety – far from the dated shock antics that they employed – was actually for their iron-clad contracts which seemed to be a way to funnel all the money right back to Daimon. He had sung his way through law school before going full-time in the music business. There were several exposés from disgruntled former band members, but they were all pretty much identical: they signed contracts when they joined, only to end up getting fired or quitting. At that point, they found out that they had been on a salary the whole time and were owed nothing from their performances or albums. Their breakthrough hit was a Doors cover, but they had a steady stream of mid-chart singles and concert tours. 

The latest complainer was a super-hot African-American bass player with the unlikely name of Nekra Sinclair, who had albinism and was working it with her all-black costumes on her Instagram. She claimed that she had known about the previous stories, but Daimon was just so persuasive that she found herself inking her name on the contract before she knew what she was doing. Sounded like drugs to Jessica, but she guessed that "I signed the contract under the influence of a ton of coke" was not the defence that even someone named Nekra wanted to go with. 

"I just wanted to make music, you know, take on the world. But you work with Daimon and it's like you've signed over your soul."

Definitely not someone Trish should be around – the Satanic shtick was one thing, but a lawyer? That was just creepy. 

The airplane ride was okay, even though it turned out you don't get free booze in economy like you did travelling in first class paid for by the studio. Sure, she and Trish had been underage, but apparently first class overrode that problem. She still associated planes with hangovers, though. She swiped a mini bottle of vodka from the old man in the seat next to her for old times' sake, but it wasn't as much fun without Trish beside her. God, how long had it been since she was even on a plane? 

Trish didn't text her again, probably sexing up her brand new fiancé, Jessica thought with a shudder, immediately reminded of the photo spreads she'd just seen, showing far, far too much of naked Daimon and his stupid pentagram chest tattoo. He could actually sing, which was something, Jessica supposed, but that was if you were looking for a karaoke buddy when there was a cash prize, not someone to spend your life with. 

The plane landed in Vegas a few long hours later, and Jessica and a hundred retirees streamed out into the airport. No Trish to meet her, but that wasn't a surprise. Jessica sent a quick text before heading to the bathroom. No way was she peeing on the plane: Trish had been in some dumb Lifetime movie where her family was suing an airline for her little sister's gruesome death by having her guts sucked out through her asshole on the airplane toilet, and for some reason that had really stuck with Jessica. What a dumb way to go. Jessica wanted to die saving twenty hot guys from the Hulk or something, make it count. Trish had, half-jokingly, sent her information about joining the fire department once, and Jessica had gone so far as to read through it, but she was too worried about them finding out about her weird strength. Also, they had mandatory fitness goals. She didn't think that would fit in with her party routine, even if she could cheat on some of them. And also, way too many rules. 

_Made it to Vegas, which hotel?_

It took a while for Trish to text back, so Jessica scoped out all the minibuses taking people wherever and scored a free tube of mints and some vouchers from a woman dressed like a bellhop and wearing a light-up billboard. While she was mulling over "all-you-can-eat dinner free with any drink" versus "LADIES!!! Free martini!!!" Trish texted back. 

_Yay you made it!! Fire Lake room 1666 see you soon_

One of the minibuses Jessica had been checking out had the Fire Lake logo on it, so she climbed aboard, along with a few elderly people in tracksuits and a young married couple who couldn't stop making out for five seconds. 

"Get a room!" Jessica yelled from the back of the bus, and they stopped, briefly, to look for who said that. Presuming it was one of the old people, the husband swept the bus with a glare, checked out Jessica's boobs on the way, then returned to making out with his bride. Yeah, good luck with that, Jessica thought sourly. Las Vegas was not, so far, endearing itself to her. 

Fire Lake Casino was kind of squat and ugly, but the brochure Jessica had found tucked in the seat pocket was all about how eco-friendly and low energy it was, so maybe that was why. Like the prune granola of casinos. It had a casino, a hotel, concert hall, beauty spa and, oh great, an "intimate butterfly garden wedding chapel". Jessica didn't want Daimon Hellstrom in her intimate butterfly garden, and she definitely didn't want him anywhere near Trish's. 

She brushed aside attempts by the staff to check her in or take her bag, but fortunately Trish had left her name at the counter, so Jessica had no problem getting up to her floor. As she went up in the elevator, which was decorated with "ethically sourced original indigenous art from around the world" that reminded Jessica of hives, she could hear thumping bass before she even got to the sixteenth floor. Great. She hoped Trish hadn't signed any contracts to play tambourine in the band. 

Jessica dodged a group of very tired-looking cleaning staff as she exited the elevator, and noticed that all the hotel room doors were flung open, but the music was coming from the end of the hall. She wandered down that way, peering into rooms in various states of disarray as she passed. There were a couple of bongs and a mirror ostentatiously removed from a wall and placed on a bed, and she had to assume that the cleaning staff had cleared away the bottles, because there was a strong smell of booze but no garbage and the beds were all made, apart from the one doubling as a coke station. Fair enough: Jessica wouldn't want to touch that one either. 

The Sons of Satan had assembled in a big apartment-style room at the end of the hall, shoving all the furniture to the walls and taking over the whole space with piles of equipment, more booze, and a wall-hung TV playing trippy patterns. No wait, that was their own music video, only with the sound off while they played their song live. 

"Devil, devil, devil girl,  
I'm under your spell,  
Carve my heart right out, baby,  
Send me straight to Hellllllllll, yeah!" 

Daimon Hellstrom was intensely handsome in person, and definitely Trish's type: tall, blue eyes, fit without being a roid junkie. He even made those stupid lyrics sound kind of compelling, and Jessica had to kick herself for continuing to check him out before she'd even looked around the room. He seemed like the sort of person who would enjoy that far too much. 

The rest of the band matched Daimon pretty well in their tattered semi-Goth stylings. Nekra Sinclair, was on the bass, much to Jessica's surprise, since Jessica had just been reading about how Daimon fucked her over financially; on the drums was a heavily muscled man with bad acne and a tight t-shirt that said "GARGOYLE"; and on keyboards was a guy with one hand and one gripping prosthetic. He had a weird resemblance to that actor Simon Williams who had played Trish's protective older brother twice, only a more weaselly version. Trish was sitting on a cushion taken from a sofa, grooving to the music, wearing the Buzzcocks t-shirt that had been in the selfie and a slightly baggy pair of red leather pants. 

"Hey! Jess!" She leapt up and hugged Jessica – they had a compromise deal that Trish could hug her for exactly ten seconds when they met so that Jessica didn't get cranky and Trish didn't sulk – and let go exactly when she was supposed to. "I knew you'd show up!"

"Free ticket to Vegas, what am I supposed to do?" Jessica yelled over the music, but she couldn't help smiling a little bit at seeing Trish. It had been a couple of months. "Whose pants did you steal?"

"Oh, they're Nekra's, she doesn't wear red anymore, so she said I could have them. The Sons of Satan are doing a surprise Vegas concert so we thought we'd get married while we were here!"

"Uh, yeah, great, when are they going to stop playing?" She grabbed Trish's hand and pulled her out into the hallway, where it was marginally quieter. 

"Hey, I was into that!" 

"I can tell, Trish. What's up with this one, anyway? Usually you date 'em and dump 'em."

"Well, you screw 'em and dump 'em so I'm one step ahead there."

"I wasn't criticising the dating." Now Jessica was really suspicious. Trish had no shortage of infatuations, often with guys who looked kind of like Daimon, but she'd never tried to marry one before.

"Oh, Jess, I'm sorry. I'm kind of hungover."

"Nah, it's cool. Let's go get coffee and you can tell me about Daimon until he's done rehearsing."

Much to Jessica's surprise, Trish agreed. Huh. That ruled out the kidnapping/blackmail theory that had been high on Jessica's list. Trish ducked into the bedroom with the coke mirror to get her purse, and they headed downstairs. 

Trish ordered them both large, strong, very sweet coffees and some actually good Danishes. Jessica's opinion of Vegas was greatly improving, though to be fair, her only other visit had been during a Patsy's Pals Promotional Party tour, which wasn't going to show anywhere at its best. 

Trish must have had the same thing on her mind, because she rolled her eyes. "Remember last time we were here? God, this place wouldn't even have been built yet."

"I remember your vodka milkshake photo shoot with the competition winners."

"Shit, those poor little kids! I hope I scared them off showbiz for life." Trish sipped her coffee. "Though, if that much projectile vomit didn't drive them off, maybe they're suited to it."

"So what's with douche lord Daimon? I mean, sure, I get why you'd take him home, but you flew to Vegas and met his friends and now you're getting married?"

"I knew you wouldn't like him! It's okay, Jess, I was braced. Apart from the obvious hotness, which, thank you for noticing, he's super smart."

"Yeah, I read up on how he uses his legal training to screw over other musicians."

Trish laughed. "Oh, those stories. You notice how Isaac – he's the drummer – has been with him for over a year? And sure, Nekra and Eric quit and Nekra did all that press, but they were trying to get publicity to launch their own band, Grim Reaper."

"Never heard of them."

"Exactly. It didn't work out and they came right back. To where Daimon writes all the music and does all the arrangements and runs the business. He's not evil, he's taking care of his own interests."

"Fair enough," Jessica agreed, though personally she was ranking him somewhere between Machiavelli and that creep who ran the Backstreet Boys. Sure, his side of the story was also totally believable and probably true, given that musicians thrived on constant drama, but it didn't make him a good guy. "Okay, so he's smart, rich, hot, a college graduate…I still don't get why you're trying to lock that down. You know it locks you down too, right?"

Trish flopped forward on the table, barely missing her coffee. "Ugh, okay, you're right, it's not just that I'm so incredibly attracted to Daimon, and also he asked. It's the whole business."

"Showbiz?"

"Well, obviously I wanted to be in it as a kid, but what did I know? It was probably my mom moulding me into the perfect little vessel for her ambitions. I mean, I liked all the dancing and acting classes and all the attention, but what kid wouldn't? And now I'm a washed up twenty-two year old with a G.E.D. and ten auditions a week and no work in six months and the last thing was a fucking talk show about child stars, and ah, fuck. I'm so sick of it, Jess."

"We've talked about this before." Jessica patted Trish's shoulder comfortingly, because she knew where this train of thought led. Well, usually led. Sudden marriage was a new development.

"I know. You tell me to come live with you and Crusty Dave and go to college or get a job or something, and oh my God, how fucking embarrassing. Not living with you, that was pretty good last time we tried, but everyone recognising me when they come to order at the drive-in or whatever because I'm not fucking qualified for anything else. 'It's Patsy! It's Patsy! She really wants to give me fries!'"

Jessica did laugh at that, because Trish did great voices, but it was the same dead-end they always reached in this discussion. "Is that so much worse than doing the slow motion bikini run for auditions?"

"Yes! Yes it is! And I just want to break out of it, you know? Put a line under all the Patsy stuff and be someone else. Go on tour with Daimon, live with him in SF, hang out on tour, you know?"'

"Because no-one can criticise you for being supportive of your husband, right?"

"Right! Fuck feminism! I'll be a trophy wife! I look the part, right?"

"Well, okay, but why the fuck Daimon Hellstrom? Couldn't you get with some rich old dude who'll drop dead of a heart attack as soon as you actually fuck him and leave you all his money?"

"Would you fuck an old dude for money?" Trish glared up at Jessica with a baleful, bloodshot eye.

"Fair point. Stop staring at me like that, you zombie-eyed bitch."

Trish pulled down her lower eyelid to give Jessica an extra good view of her gross eyeball, but then, thankfully, she quit. "Come on, let's go see if the band's finished yet. It'll be their first performance with Nekra and Eric back, so I think they're kind of jumpy."

Jessica heroically refrained from pointing out that two musicians had been sacked to bring Nekra and Eric back in, and swigged down the rest of her coffee instead. 

Back upstairs, the noise of rehearsal had ended, though someone, presumably Nekra, was going over and over a bass riff. Without Daimon's stupid lyrics it was kind of funky, and Trish grooved all the way up the hall, pulling Jessica along with her. 

"Hey, hot stuff!" Trish grabbed Daimon and kissed him to a gross degree, but Trish was always like that with her boyfriends and occasional girlfriends. Jessica's theory was that being overly affectionate was to make up for having to suckle from Dorothy's icy tit, but Trish had told her never to say that again because she didn't want to think about it, ew, Jess. 

"Hey, I'm Jessica," Jessica said with maximum unenthusiasm. At least Daimon had put on a shirt now. 

"Trish's sister! Good to meet you." His eyes raked up and down, but it wasn't in a sleazy way: more of a thorough assessment. Jessica couldn't decide if that was good or bad. "Nice boots."

"Thanks, they're good for kicking people." 

Trish laughed at that, "Please don't kick Daimon, Jess."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Jessica said, with a glare at Daimon to make him aware that the restraint was minimal and temporary. 

Trish took Jessica's arm and steered her away from Daimon with her usual social deftness. "Nekra's from New Mexico, remember when we were shooting there?"

Nekra didn't look up from her bass, but she grinned. "You escaped? Never go back!"

"Don't intend to," Jessica agreed. She was feeling oddly protective of these stupid douchebags, being preyed on by Daimon. Not that Trish was stupid, but she did like attention, and Daimon followed her with his gaze wherever she went. 

"Nekra's boyfriend, Eric Williams."

Eric offered his right hand, the prosthesis, for Jessica to shake, which she did, meeting his eyes as she shook it. This was obviously a test, but she thought you'd have to be a total fucking idiot not to pass it. Still, there were a lot of fucking idiots in the world, so she guessed it was fair enough. 

"And thank you for not asking the obvious question," he told her.

"The hand question or the Simon Williams question?" 

"Uh, oh, you said the name," Nekra muttered. 

Eric only laughed. "Either is bad. But I guessed you wouldn't ask about Simon, since you're also the non-famous sibling of a B-Lister."

"C at best these days, sorry to say," Trish sighed. 

"Simon or you? Don't tell me, let me imagine it's him."

"Yo," said the drummer, Isaac, and that seemed to be the most conversation he ever managed, because nobody paid any attention when he immediately went back to fiddling with his gear. 

"Everyone!" Daimon called out, and even Jessica turned to listen. "They said they'll let us in from six, and sound check's at eight, make sure you've got everything set up by then. And by everyone, I mean you, Eric."

"I've got twice as much to set up as everyone else!"

"Isaac has nearly as much and he gets it all done. You know the deadline." Daimon swept out, his unbuttoned shirt flaring dramatically as he did, and Trish followed. Jessica hesitated, then went with them. She was here for Trish, as much as these guys seemed more her speed than Daimon did. 

Trish disappeared into the bathroom of the bedroom with the coke mirror to freshen up, which in Trish's case wasn't merely a euphemism for using the toilet, but a quick and well-rehearsed make-up routine that turned her from wrecked to fresh in ten minutes flat. Jessica had tried it, but she ended up looking exactly as hung-over, just with more make-up. Daimon flopped on the bed, sliding the mirror to the floor, his shirt casually slipping open to show his pentagram tattoo.

"Why have you got that tatt? It's ugly." It really was – Jessica had seen better tattoos done in high school locker rooms with a pen as the needle. 

"Would you believe my mother was a Satanist?" Daimon asked, raising a ginger eyebrow. 

"Eh, I've heard worse. Doesn't usually involve tattooing the kids, though."

"I wrote an autobiography so people wouldn't ask me these questions."

Jessica shrugged. "I don't read a whole lot of fiction."

"It's not – oh, I see. Very funny. If you had read it, you'd know that my mother tattooed me as a young child, and of course tattoos go a little strange as you grow up. I've had it touched up, but there's not much they can do without laser removal or completely covering it. And, crazy as she was, she was my mother and wanted me to have it."

"Nice," Jessica said flatly, though she was starting to see why Trish had been drawn to him, with a juicy backstory like that. The only thing Trish liked more than attention was someone to look after, and Jessica wouldn't allow enough caretaking for Trish's liking. 

"Yes, well, what do you do, tragic adopted sister of Trish?"

"I work construction."

"No, seriously."

"Yes, seriously. It's good money and I'll even wear a dorky helmet since they pay me. Why do you think I've got steel-capped boots?"

Daimon eyed her, but not in a sleazy way. More assessing. "You're built like a twig."

"I'm stronger than I look. But eventually I'm going to punch someone through a wall for grabbing my ass, then I guess I'll have to work somewhere else. Word gets around those places." Jessica shrugged. 

"Why don't you come and live the Hollywood life with your sister?"

"The Hollywood life can suck a bag of dicks. Why do you live in San Francisco if you're so Hollywood?"

"Inherited a home there, plus the music scene is better. Also, everyone's either making billions in tech or working four jobs to pay rent. No-one has time for stalking semi-celebrities. Big improvement on LA."

"I guess." Jessica was deeply suspicious of how easily the answers rolled off his tongue. Of course, they could all be true, but much more likely a handy façade he'd built for himself. "You inherited a place in San Francisco? You're not selling it? You went to law school, you must be in debt up to your balls."

"That's what the band is for. Do this for a few years, pay off the debts, then go back and do the grad school I actually wanted to do."

"Which is?"

"Medieval metaphysical and epistemological writings, focusing on texts relating to demonology and witchcraft," Daimon said, finally sounding genuinely interested.

"I can see why you weren't planning to make cash that way."

"Oh yeah."

Trish burst out of the bathroom, her face dewy fresh, though Jessica knew there were at least eleven distinct processes involved. "Are you done giving the Dad Talk, Jess?"

"She's interviewing me about my prospects," Daimon told her. "Not too enthusiastic about grad school."

"You want to study demons! Who would be?"

"Not actual demons, what medieval people wrote about-" he started to explain, but threw up his hands. "Everybody's obsessed with the demon thing. It works for the image, at least."

Trish twisted two bunches of his hair up so it made little demon horns. Jessica thought that either he had a ton of product in there, or he seriously needed a shower. Probably both. 

"Lunch is on me. Lunch, dinner, whatever," Daimon told them, then turned to Jessica. "You're not a vegan or anything, are you?"

"Hell no, I live for steak."

"Excellent."

Daimon took them in a taxi to a different casino/hotel/day spa complex and an apparently famous grill restaurant, which Jessica had never heard of, but could smell from the lobby. She gave Trish a surreptitious thumbs up behind Daimon's back, because there was nothing better than eating steak on someone else's dime, except maybe drinking on someone else's dime. Trish grinned back, and Jessica was kind of feeling okay about things. Maybe she was just catching Trish's happy, but Jessica was starting to think that maybe Trish should go through with this. They'd probably divorce in few weeks anyway.

While Daimon was talking to the wine waiter, Jessica leaned over to Trish and asked, "Has he asked you to sign anything?"

"Just a basic pre-nup, I sent it to Jennifer. She said she'd go over it today. I didn't tell Mom, though, let her freak out for a while."

"Cool," Jessica muttered. Jennifer Walters was a tiny little mouse of a woman, but had been Trish's lawyer since the day she turned eighteen, and never missed a trick, not even when Dorothy had tried to sell off Trish's rights to the Patsy musical back catalogue. Jessica trusted her with this kind of thing, even though Dorothy, who bore grudges forever, certainly didn't. Jessica's objections were falling one by one, except that she still thought Daimon was a douche. That was an important objection. Even if he did buy them steak.

"So when's the actual event?" Jess asked Trish. 

"Tonight! On stage, after the surprise concert."

"Seriously, Trish? Weren't you wanting to be a good housewife or something?"

"Sure, afterwards, but this is rock'n'roll, baby!" She threw devil horns and Jessica rolled her eyes. Maybe she wouldn't have to do anything at all and this would sort itself out. "Fine, if you want to be a downer about it," Trish added.

"Okay, whatever, as long as you don't make me be the flower girl."

"Come on, you'd be adorable."

Jessica made a truly vile face and they were laughing again by the time Daimon came back to the table with a very nice bottle of wine, way out of Jessica's usual price bracket. 

Back in Trish's room at the Fire Lake casino while Daimon and the band went to set up, Trish was thrilled to find her dress had been delivered. 

"It only had to be delivered from LA, so I was hoping it would make it here," she said, clutching the big flat box. 

"Wait, there's a wedding dress now? This sounds like it's heading into flower girl territory." Jessica folded her arms to keep Trish away from her leather jacket. 

"It's not a Dress dress, don't freak out. I had it on hold and they sent it over for me. You wear what you usually wear, you'll fit right in."

"Oh, yay, sense my enthusiasm."

"Check out my dress!" Trish stripped off her t-shirt and leather pants and pulled the dress on over her head. It was white and very plain, with thin shoulder straps and made out of something that clung lightly to Trish's body before hanging loose at the soft hem around her knees. Jessica stared for a minute, shocked that she was actually paying attention to a dress, but then she realised she was barely even looking at the dress: she was looking at Trish, because Trish was, well, happy. 

"Shit."

"Shit?" Trish asked, a frown suddenly appearing.

"Yeah, shit. You really like this guy. And now I'm going to have to confess."

"Confess what, Jess?" Trish poked her in the side. "Did you set us up or something?"

"No, way worse. Dorothy sent me to break you two up."

Trish burst out laughing. "Since when do you do anything she says?"

"Well, she paid up for a plane ticket and a hotel, so…"

"Oh my god, of all people she sends you? And you already had a ticket!" Trish was still laughing.

"I'm serious, Trish! I feel dirty now, like I've got her perfume all over me. I might not like Daimon, but I don't think he's, you know, evil or anything."

Trish stroked Jessica's hair. "Oh, Jess, you took her money and came to check out Daimon. That's awesome! I asked you here! I want you to be here! You wringing money out of her is just a bonus."

"Really?" Jessica managed a bit of a smile in return. "You're not mad?"

Trish shrugged. "I only told her I was getting married because I was drunk, and Daimon was texting his family about it, so I'm actually thrilled that she's not coming in person. Was there some important child star event on?"

"Of course. _Annie_ auditions. Again."

"Ugh, I remember her yelling at me for being too tall for my age, so I never got cast in a Major Broadway Musical. Until some other stage mom told her that she should be excited, I might be able to model."

"Then it was time for eating disorders instead?"

"Ha, yeah, good times." Trish hugged Jessica, briefly but hard, and Jessica kind of hugged her back, carefully, not wanting her zipper to catch on the white dress.

"Don't mess up your dress, okay?"

"I don't care why you're here, Jess, just that you are. You can go back and report to Dorothy that I got married in white because I'm definitely and totally a virgin, and then scam a plane ticket from her to come visit me in San Francisco."

"It's bad luck for Daimon to see you in your dress before the wedding," Jessica said suddenly, though she had no idea where that came from. "Here, wear my jacket over it."

"It can be my something borrowed." Trish smiled, and slipped on the jacket. It reminded Jessica of the day Trish had turned eighteen and walked out on her mother. They'd got way too drunk with their fake IDs, and Trish had puked all over herself, so Jessica gave her the jacket to cover up. It had taken a week for Trish to give it back, but somehow Jessica hadn't minded. It smelled a bit of Trish and, to be honest, a little bit of puke, for weeks. 

"What's the other wedding things?"

"Old can be these sandals, I've had them since that time we ran away in Malibu and Mom called the police on us. New for the dress, borrowed for the jacket, and I've got some blue nail polish around here somewhere."

"I'll do your nails," Jessica offered, tentatively. 

Trish thought about it. "Nah, you're shit at nails. I'll call downstairs, they can send someone up from the spa."

"Fuck, that's a relief." Jessica collapsed on the bed. "Hey, who was doing coke? Was it Daimon?"

"We all did some. I'm not going to do any more, though, I always forget it makes me into a raging bitch. Too much like my mom."

"You don't want to go down that path. Next thing you'll be forcing six-year-olds to smile and tap dance."

Trish flopped down next to Jessica. "If I ever do, drag me straight to rehab, please."

"I promise!"

Trish and Jessica hung out backstage while the Sons of Satan set up for the concert, and, apart from stopping for a brief kiss with Trish, Daimon was all business. While Isaac seemed to be fine to set up all the percussion on his own, Nekra and Eric constantly bickered and re-arranged all Eric's sound gear. 

"You're not the lead singer here," Daimon snapped at Nekra when she tried to set up her amps and pedal front and centre, right in front of Eric. "You know where to go."

"Half the audience is here for me anyway," she complained, moving her gear. She was dramatically dressed in a tall black wig and a skin tight black catsuit with lots of cut-outs for her ghostly pale skin to show through. With the big hair and black platform boots she was taller than Daimon and Jessica thought it was no surprise that he was determined to keep her from too much of the spotlight. 

"If half the audience was here for you, you would have doubled your album sales," Daimon told her, and even Eric snickered at that, despite it also being his album. 

Nekra shot Eric a deadly glare and took her position stage right, phone out and texting angrily. Daimon was everywhere: helping Eric with his complicated set-up, rack after rack of keyboards and sound gear that Jessica didn't even recognise, despite having spent plenty of time hanging around bored in studios when Trish was recording the Patsy albums. He ran through things with the lighting crew and with security, signed a couple of staff autographs "for my daughter, she's a big fan", and was in constant action. 

Jessica saw Nekra trying to pull a big amp into better position and wandered over. "You need a hand with that?"

"Thanks, Eric's hogging all the dollys, selfish dick." The last two words were yelled.

"Fuck you!" Eric yelled back and Nekra flipped him the middle finger. 

She saw Jessica watching and shrugged. "Shit is always tense before we play." 

Jessica lifted the amp, showing more effort than it actually took. "Where do you want this?"

Daimon was watching her out of the corner of his eye from across the stage, Jessica noticed. 

"You've got muscles under there! Stay where you are, just keep turning to the left until I tell you to stop."

"No problem." They got the amp organised, then Daimon immediately recruited her to finish unloading for Eric. 

"You weren't kidding that you're stronger than you look."

"Wouldn't be hard," Trish pointed out, staying protectively close to Jessica as she always did when Jessica was using her weird strength. 

"Yeah, true," Daimon agreed. "Still, you've got a career as a roadie if you ever want it."

"Eh, too many giant egos for me," Jessica shrugged, meeting his eyes as she said it. She unloaded the rest of Eric's stuff, though, and got it all in order for him. 

"Sound check!" Daimon called. "Trish, Jessica, you want to be the audience?"

"Sure!" Trish jumped down into the auditorium and Jessica followed. The band played an endless and extremely dull stream of fragments and single notes, each of them ducking out into the auditorium to check the balance and volume and a million other things that Jessica couldn't be bothered remembering. Trish listened to all of it, though, still smiling, and not her Hollywood smile, either. Jessica sighed. She was really going to have to let Trish go through with this. 

"Hey, do you understand any of this?" she whispered to Trish after Trish gave Daimon a thumbs up to some question about volume.

"Nope! If he wants an accurate answer he shouldn't be asking me! Oh, hey, Jennifer texted me back." She held up the phone to show Jessica that Jennifer had given the pre-nups the okay. Jessica shifted uncomfortably as Trish and Daimon took a moment to get the pre-nups sorted, but she didn't go as far as offering to witness: Isaac did that. 

Just as they finished signing, a staff member from the casino scurried in and talked to Daimon for a minute. 

"Thanks, Josh. Ten minutes until we have to clear out, forty to curtain!" Daimon yelled. Jessica knew what that meant, at least, and she and Trish returned to the backstage area. Everyone made their final adjustments then heavy dark green curtains swept down and the band was cut off from the auditorium. 

There was an intense nervous energy buzzing and Jessica let herself fade into the background rather than interrupt it. Musicians were probably as superstitious and crazy as a lot of the actors Trish worked with; at least Trish treated it all as a business, day in and day out. She was doing the same here, sitting on a table and stroking Daimon's hair, but looking deeply relieved not to be the main game tonight. Nekra and Eric had vanished, either for a quick fuck or to get coked up, Jessica didn't know, and Isaac sat on the floor, reading a heavily annotated Bible, of all things, and humming softly to himself. Daimon ran through lyrics on his phone, sometimes leaping away from Trish to pace, but always coming back. There was a lot of noise from the auditorium, as the crowd filled the space and someone had turned on the music, some kind of long looping remix that was vaguely familiar. 

"Is that one of your songs?" Jessica asked Isaac.

"Sort of. We did a cover of Riders on the Storm, and some DJ remixed it and it was big for a while. Mostly Nekra's bass lines, though, which is where she got the idea to go solo. Duo. You know, her with Eric as back-up. Daimon's still pissed that his biggest hit is not only a cover, but a remixed cover. He makes way less money on it than on anything that he wrote."

"You don't feel, you know, horribly exploited by Daimon or anything?"

Isaac shook his head. "I'm a drummer, man. Getting regularly paid for it is awesome. Nobody'd put posters of me on their bedroom walls, even if I was a singer. I'm here to do a job and do it good."

"Huh. I thought you were all divas," Jessica muttered. 

"Nah, I burned that out years ago." He returned to the Bible verse he was reading, with a frown of concentration.

Nekra and Eric got back with minutes to spare, and they all filed out on stage, Isaac steady and the rest of them jumping with nervous energy. Or coke, in the case of Nekra and Eric, Jessica was pretty sure. 

With a massive crash of sound from the band, the curtains swept open and the audience screamed. Trish clutched Jessica's hand, caught up in the moment, and even Jessica felt the bass thumping through her body. Nekra might be coked up and have dubious taste in boyfriends, but she could really make music. She hadn't been wrong that half the audience was there for her, and she played up to that, strutting around with her bass, edging into Daimon's space. The other half of the crowd, though, was there for Daimon, and screamed at his every movement. He was incredibly confident, and turned the power struggle with Nekra into a kind of dance, the entire audience united in the ebb and flow of their movements and the sexy bass supporting Daimon's deep voice. 

Trish's eyes were alight, and she swayed to the music, but, Jessica couldn't help noticing, she didn't have that massive tension in her shoulders and back that she usually carried everywhere public. Her movements were free and relaxed, except for the hand that clutched Jessica's, and even that was to pull Jessica along with her, caught up in the performance. 

As the performance carried the audience through to the close, with the same giant wall of noise that started it, the casino guy ran out on the stage and up to Daimon, a big smile on his face. 

Daimon threw an arm across the man's shoulders. "Hey, here's who brought us all here tonight, Josh Ayers!" He gave Josh the mike. 

The crowd obviously couldn't care less about the organiser, but gave him a big cheer anyway, hyped up by Daimon. 

"Okay, thanks for coming, everyone, hope you enjoyed the surprise! And we've got one more surprise for you tonight!"

Jessica was expecting the wedding to be announced, and so was Trish, by the way she clutched at Jessica's hand. Daimon, however, looked confused.

"She brought 'Riders on the Storm' into a new millennium! It's DJ Satana!" Josh put the microphone in a dumbstruck Daimon's hand. Jessica glanced across the stage to see both Nekra and Eric snickering, completely failing to manage surprised faces. Isaac, behind the drum kit, was obviously startled, but played her on with a flurry of beats, as professional as ever. 

DJ Satana leapt in from the other side of the stage: she was a short woman in tight black leather, with streaked red and black hair. She had some kind of stupid red contacts in, and her jacket was unzipped to her navel, showing part of a pentacle tattoo in much better shape that Daimon's. She seemed extremely pleased to be there, and the crowd was delighted to see her, screaming and roaring. Daimon, on the other hand, seemed absolutely appalled. He threw down the mike and stalked off stage after Josh Ayres. Jessica caught Josh by the arm.

"I think someone wants to talk to you," she said, and Josh turned around, big people-pleasing smile still in place. 

Daimon grabbed him by the casino-branded jacket. "Who the fuck invited my sister?"

Trish and Jessica were equally wide-eyed. 

"I thought you knew!" Josh pleaded. "She remixed your song and the others said…"

"You mean Nekra said?"

"Yes, Nekra told me to invite her and make it a surprise!"

"Does Nekra own this band?" Daimon shouted in his face? "Does Nekra make the bookings?"

"N-no, sir…" Josh tailed off. 

"Ah, fuck it, you're not the problem here." Daimon let him go. "Sorry, Trish, I've got to take back this audience."

"Your sister?" Trish was still wide-eyed. 

"We, uh, don't get along."

"No fucking kidding," Jessica muttered. 

Daimon glared at her for good measure, and bounded back onto the stage. 

"DJ Satana, everyone!" he shouted, and the crowd was already screaming just to see him again. With his hand over the mike, audible only to the people on stage, but with a charming smile, he said, "I presume Eric's got something set up for you?"

"Good to see you too," she grinned back at him, and their family likeness was very obvious just then. She shoved Eric out of the way and took the central place in his rig. Eric opened his mouth to argue, but took one look at Nekra and decided not to. He spun a keyboard 180 degrees so he could access it and stayed at that instead, grumpily. Satana fiddled with a few things, attaching some device to the upright of one of the stands. 

"Any time you're ready," Satana called out, and Nekra launched into the opening of their version of 'Riders on the Storm'. For a song played while most of the band wanted to kill each other, it was working pretty well. 

"You didn't know he had a sister?" Jessica asked Trish. 

"I don't think he wants one!" 

As the song reached its climax, with just Daimon's voice and Nekra's bass, Satana gestured with both hands and an explosion rang out, bright light blinding Jessica for a moment. The music stopped suddenly, and there was another explosion. Jessica reached out to grab Trish, but she was already gone, heading for Daimon. The crowd was entirely caught up in the act, and Jessica, shielding her eyes, focused on Satana: she was laughing in delight and a third explosion came. Jessica realised that it was fireworks and that she'd had about enough of Satana already, and raced onto the stage to tackle Satana, pull her away from her electronic trigger and rush her offstage. 

Jessica threw Satana to the floor in the wings, and put a foot on her chest. 

"Enough with the fireworks."

"Fuck you, you nobody bitch!" Satana shrieked, struggling to get up, but Jessica ignored her, glancing back to see where Trish was. 

Trish was on stage, but Daimon was wrapped around her, putting his body between her and the explosions. Trish looked over his shoulder to see Jessica in the wings, and Jessica gave her the thumbs up. 

Trish whispered something to Daimon and he relaxed, though not without a glare into the wings, and stepped up to the mike stand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, DJ Satana!"

The crowd, which had been dissolving into confusion and maybe a little panic, was back with Daimon, and cheering wildly. Nekra, making the most of the moment, picked up the riff on the bass again, and she and Daimon finished the song while trying to stare each other down. 

"Let me up," Satana snarled at Jessica. 

"You gonna go back on stage? Start exploding stuff without warning anyone?"

"Fuck you," Satana repeated, but she wilted under Jessica's stare, and when Jessica let her up, she slunk off and away. 

On stage, the song had finished and Daimon took the microphone. "One more surprise for you all tonight. Some of you may recognise the beautiful Patricia Walker, and tonight I'm here to tell you we're in love, and we're getting married. Right now!" 

The crowd screamed again. Jessica was pretty sure she saw some angry faces there, but they too were caught up in the moment. Trish beckoned for Jessica to join them, and she did, along with Isaac. Nekra and Eric must have seen their moment to escape, because they had quickly vacated the stage. 

Isaac, it turned out, was an ordained minister, and began the ceremony to a hushed crowd and many phones filming. Jessica was very uncomfortable, but then she saw Trish's rapt face and forgave them all. She was still tempted to step in at the objections stage, but Daimon had jumped in front of Trish when the explosions went off, and that was about all Jessica could ask from a human being. 

"I do," Trish told Daimon, and they kissed, deeply and passionately, while the crowd screamed approval. 

Afterwards, once the witnessing was done, Jessica threw her arms around Trish. 

"Don't fuck this up, but if you do, I'll still be there for you." She squeezed Trish until she gasped for air, then abruptly let go."

"I love you too," Trish replied, and slipped out of the leather jacket. "Here, something borrowed, something returned."

Jessica put the jacket back on, its soft leather slightly out of shape from Trish's broader shoulders, and stepped back. This was Trish and Daimon's show, now. Still, she couldn't deny it was going to be extremely entertaining explaining the whole thing to Dorothy. 

She watched Trish walk away, she and Daimon pressed into each other, and slowly breathed out. Trust Trish, she told herself, trust Trish and it will all be okay.


End file.
